


The Lack of Touch

by cantor



Category: Pillars of Eternity
Genre: Angst, Character of Faith, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Novelization, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:13:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26170207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantor/pseuds/cantor
Summary: A reclusive Eothasian priestess from the distant lands arrives in Gilded Vale. She will have to battle the encroaching maddness of the Watcher curse and the doubts that surround her own rendition of faith, but she will also learn of friendship and of newfound hope in the Dyrwood, the country that wishes her gone.
Relationships: Edér Teylecg & The Watcher
Comments: 11
Kudos: 8





	1. Rotten Wood and Gilding

Urgeat was a short, wax-skinned man in his early fourties. A Magranite by faith and a true Dyrwoodan at heart, he looked utterly displeased even when he was smiling, and that happened only at rare occasions. He wasn’t a people’s person, but his position in the village demanded that he would at least try, although his clumsy, miserable attempts at polite conversation did not extend for Eothasians whom he loathed passionately. Urgeat wasn’t very perceptive, but he could not help himself from scrutinizing the embroidery on a passing traveler’s mantle, as if he was somehow drawn to do so. When he realized that the letters were actually forming words, and that these words were from an Eothasian hymn, his heart dropped and the veins on his forehead started to bulge. He hated the fact that he recognized the prayer and quickly realized that the woman needed to go. But he had to do get rid of her discreetly, so that none of the militiamen learned that he knew an Eothasian hymn. It could be the end of him, after all.

She was oddly dressed for this part of the country – a long-sleeved, intricate mantle of a dark mauve colour, probably custom-tailored, and a topped cone hat – but then again, many of the travelers looked worse. None of them bore symbols of Eothas, however. Under no circumstances could that woman be allowed to remain in Gilded Vale. Even if she was a trader who could supply the village for months, she had to go. The Eothasian filth must be purged.

Urgeat considered her lucky. She was going to leave unscathed, unlike some. “Let others bother with this scourge,” he thought bitterly as he spat on the ground with disgust. The greenish-yellow bile stain remained on the ground, oozing into the soil. He cleared his throat audibly, and intentionally so.

“Hey you!” the Magistrate yelled at the traveler. “Yes, you, in purple! Turn back!”

Instead of obeying his order, however, the woman turned to face Urgeat and started pacing towards him. As she approached the Magistrate, he noticed a strange stirring in her dark eyes as they darted rapidly back and forth, as if seeing things that weren’t there. Her skin was pale, and equally pale freckles were scattered on her big, straight nose. She looked sick deep in her soul. “Of course,” he thought with ghoulish glee, “only a madwoman would follow a dead god.”

“Is that how you greet everyone?” she asked. Despite appearing half-dead, the woman’s tone was jolly and even slightly filled with a note of reprimand. Her voice was low and thick with foreign accent Urgeat couldn’t quite place, as she rolled hard r’s on her tongue and her intonation went up and down perhaps way too much within the sentence. “In this case, I’m not surprised you-”

Her gaze then got strangely fixated on a tree behind his back. It was hard to not notice, but something kept the traveler from discerning it. Hers was a common reaction, the one he had already got used to – and a terrifying sight to behold. The bodies, hanging by the neck, were dressed in grain sacks with different symbols painted over them in black tar. Most of those symbols were of Eothasian origin – sun-and-dawnstars, but there were others – like a crossed scepter or a book. She didn’t gasp or stare, but her attitude changed visibly.

And then the bell tolled.

The Magistrate’s stomach sank deep into his bowels. The sound was ominous and dark. He knew that the Lord’s wife was expecting, but so soon? In the misty twilight, the Raedric castle was looming menacingly in the distance. At the horizon, the sky was crimson, the colour of blood; higher up, it was already dark, and the sharp pale crescent of the moon shone dimly. As he heard another toll, his heartbeat quickened and the faint hope he cherished in his calloused, hardened soul started to deteriorate.

“Two tolls...” one of the farmers murmured, performing the sign of Berath, “let that be the last...”

The third toll made Urgeat let out a terrified sigh. It could not be. His hand rested sternly on the hilt of his sword, and he grabbed it so suddenly and with such force that his knuckles went milky-white. Of course, the arrival of this woman was a sign that something was to go wrong. And the fact that he still couldn’t get his hands on that Eothasian farmer didn’t help matters. And to make things worse, there he stood, behind the trunk, puffing on his pipe continuously, as if he was there solely to make fun of Urgeat. His mere existence was an insult to Gilded Vale and onto Lord Raedric himself.

“It seems your arrival is ill-timed. Three bells toll only for the death of a Readric,” Urgeat explained grimly to the woman. “I fear Lord Raedrric’s heir is lost – or else Hollowborn and thus lost all the same. It would be best,” he said with his teeth clenched, “if you left town as soon as possible. There will be no place for you. And I should remind you that here in Gilded Vale, we have a special place for dissidents, charlatans and those who would hide a curse in our midst.”

As she tried to protest, the Magistrate interrupted her, inclining his head towards the tree. “You come to us in the time of mourning. You _may_ stay at the inn until you can make the necessary arrangements. But I would not advise remaining long. Lord Raedric will be most thorough,” he said piously, loyal as a hound, as he diverted his gaze to the bodies hanging from the tree, “in his efforts to purify this place. I will hear no protestations. Now be on your way. I need to be elsewhere.”

Enraged, he turned on the heel of his boot and rapidly went uphill.

* * *

The woman was at a loss. Taken aback by the Magistrate’s harsh words and the disgusting sight of the public display of death, she felt threatened by the place. She looked around guardedly, adjusting the skirts of her mantle and tucking the long sleeves under her warm cloak The traveler made a couple of careful steps towards the village square and noticed a rosy-skinned, suntanned man who quickly returned her look.

“Welcome to our lovely village,” the man smiled broadly at her, and as he turned his face to look in another direction, she could swear he winked playfully. At the same time, she could clearly say he wasn’t in any mood to talk, so she left him be.

As she continued walking, almost aimlessly, she could feel the staring. It was swaddling her from head to toe, and it was physically straining as she felt she was completely undressed, despite being wrapped in thick layers of long garment. The looks the villagers gave her were far less than friendly. The woman cringed inwardly. Although she was a recluse and a drifter, she wasn’t used to it. Loneliness suited her better, even though she liked being around people.

The people in Gilded Vale made it very hard to like them, however. She approached a woman in her late thirties who was walking towards her with a basket of eggs pressed onto her side and, after a laboured but cordial greeting, asked where she could find the village inn. Instead of any response she expected, the woman silently pointed to the east and hurriedly went on her way, doing her best to divert her eyes from the purple-swathed traveler.

Her name was Severin Cantor.

The woman pulled her hard hat down over her face and pressed on. She heard quiet thunder rumbling overhead and rushed towards the building that had an old sign with a black hound painted on it quite sloppily. Inside, it was warm, and she uncoupled the cloak from her wide shoulders. The innkeeper was a lively, genial woman who nevertheless adopted a tired and somehow belligerent expression.

“I think I need a place to stay tonight,” Severin said hopefully to her, “do you have any rooms available?”

“Of course,” the innkeeper replied, “one hundred coppers and it’s yours.”

She reached for the coin purse which was tied to her belt and handed the woman a small velvety pouch.

“Upstairs, second room on the right,” the innkeeper said as she counted the coins thoroughly. When she was finished, she handed a bronze key to Severin. “Here, take the key. It’s yours for tonight.”

“Thank you,” she smiled warmly. The innkeeper’s friendly demeanor was a welcome reprieve from the rudeness and unhealthy curiosity of others that took the form of concerned looks and pointing fingers.

Although the inn was far from homely, she felt strangely at ease inside. Other guests were downstairs, enjoying their late supper. Severin wasn’t hungry, and felt disgust at the mere thought of eating food, she would rather eat dirt; moreover, she wasn’t sure she could ever eat anything after what she had witnessed. She had heard of bîaŵacs before, in her studies, but never thought she would see not just one, but two, and live. She felt that strange darting of the eyes again, back and forth, from left to right, and then they slowly started rolling involuntarily. She found herself unable to focus and oddly concentrated at the same time. Had she gone mad? Severin could swear that on her way to Gilded Vale she saw things that weren’t there: a torture chamber in the middle of the woods, ethereal silhouettes running away from the ruins, mysterious figures woven in the fabric of an empyrean origin. They called to her, they pleaded, but she couldn’t reach out to them, as if she lacked something to do it. She had never seen so much death in one day, so horrific and agonizing and unnecessary. She wished she could save the caravan master, the quartermaster and the guides, and all the travelers that perished with them, but it was too late. Severin would pray for them.

Her room was small; it had a bed with a hard straw mattress, a small chest and a desk. She fell on the bed without undressing, the strings that held her hat on her head pressing firmly onto her neck. She tried to pray, to say the holy words of Eothas, but they simply didn’t come as easily as they used to. It was as if the oppressive atmosphere of the town had sealed her lips.

She came to the Dyrwood in hopes of reconnecting with Eothas but instead found only death and chaos and silence. Madness was slowly creeping in her mind. Before the years of seclusion akin to exile, being away from civilization, one day she felt a terrifying lack of warmth. He stopped answering. The candles refused to burn, the flames sputtered and went out, and for the first time in her life she felt truly alone in this world. It would only be months later that she’d learn Eothas had been killed, and it would crush her. She had hoped that it would be some sort a pilgrimage for her, the journey to Gilded Vale, where the God of Light used to be praised – but the sight of Eothasians hanging on the creaking ropes screamed it was the wrong destination. Perhaps she should have headed to Readceras, and all this could have been avoided.

It was getting late. The priestess promptly decided that her nervous tics were due to fatigue. All she needed was rest, and then it would go away. Severin closed her eyes, made a conscious effort to relax her rigid body, and quickly fell into a shallow, anxious slumber.


	2. Lost and Found

Aloth Corfiser was in deep trouble. It was quite early in the morning, and he was already a subject to angry, drunken glares that were so intense it seemed they could burn a hole in his delicate skin. The elf had refined, almost feminine features, but was dressed in coarse, stiff leathers, with a scarf over his chest, Aedyre fashion. His boots were caked in mud. He had read about Dyrwoodan hospitality, but only now was he about to see it in action.

“Go on,” one of the townsmen snarled, “say it again. I’m itching for an excuse!” He wasn’t lying; his hands grew impatient at his sides, forming loose fists, and saliva was almost dripping from the corners of his crooked mouth. Aloth did not know the fellow, nor did he his friends, but one thing he knew for certain: he meant it.

The locals must have had too much ale last night, he thought as he took a cautious step back. Then, as suddenly as a lightning would strike, he replied to him in a belligerent manner, “Fye, you’re itching for the kindling touch of your sister, ye coxfither!” Shocked at his own predicament, he raised his hand as if to calm the group of people who, at this point, were already out for blood. With the corner of his eye, he spied an elven woman bare her dagger. “This is all a misunderstanding,” he almost pleaded as his long face got concealed by a fallen hood, “I didn’t say whatever you think it is I said. We’ve nye quarrel,” he added with a wry smile and a totally different attitude.

Severin, who had left the inn moments ago, with a scabbard on her back and an estoc in it, was watching the situation unfold. She had never met an Aedyran before and took the elf’s peculiarities for national custom. For a second there she thought he was Dyrwoodan, as well, judging by how he was handling the conversation, but then she recognized the embroidery on his cloak as Aedyran.

“Oh but this is where you’re wrong-” the elven woman hissed, ready to lunge, almost stampeding.

Finally, Severin interjected. “What’s going on?” she asked, her tone that of a kind village teacher.

Another man pointed at the elf, disdain written in his bloodshot eyes. “Mocking us even while he shelters in our village.” He spat angrily at his feet and continued, “Just goes to show you what these fancy Aedyre manners are worth. We don’t take that kind of treatment, and ‘specially not from Aedyrans.”

“This is really a misunderstanding,” the elven man pleaded again as his manner mellowed and grew meeker by the second, “a matter of mistranslations, perhaps. I meant no offense. Let’s put this matter to rest over a round, shall we?” he suggested in a friendly, albeit shy way, “ _m_ _y_ treat.”

The elf with a dagger was going to have none of it. “Hoping to soothe our pride with a few Aedyre coppers, eh? We don’t need your coin!”

“Hey, hey,” the Eothasian said tiredly, “there’s no need to be fighting. Let it go. Go to your homes. Forget about it. You probably heard worse from your neighbours. He’s not worth it.”

“But that’s not the point!” the man exclaimed, and she could feel the foul stench coming out from his chiseled mouth. “He comes to _our_ town, eats _our_ food, takes shelter under _our_ roofs, and then he insults us right to our faces! It isn’t very grateful of him, is it! And who are you, anyway?” he asked with scrutiny of a drunk in his voice, “I don’t recall seeing you here! Mind your own business, woman, or better yet, leave!”

“I say we rough him up a little bit,” said another man, “teach him a lesson.”

Severin saw the horror in the elf’s eyes and sighed. “Do you really think it’s such a good idea? You think you’ll take him easily? ‘Who am I, anyway?’” she mocked slightly. “The only one here who can see the man’s a wizard. He may not look like it, but still you don’t want to have half your face burned and later be found lying in a ditch somewhere. Drop it. See that book in his hands?” She pointed at the tome the elf was clutching, pressed firmly to his side. “Ever heard of grimoires? For all I know, he could know a spell that would turn you into a lizard. I doubt you’d want that.”

The townspeople looked at each other in disbelief. The man who spoke last turned to Severin and said, “I don’t know who you are, woman, and I don’t know your interest in defending this guy, but… I’m not willing to try. Just don’t think we’ll ever forget this. Watch your back, Aedyran,” he addressed the elf, “because we’re not going anywhere.”

“Not quite how I hoped to know the neighbours,” the elf said to Severin as he intently watched the townspeople turn around and leave hurriedly, looking back at him with caution. “Thank you for your timely assistance with that… awkward situation.”

“Glad I could be of service,” she bowed slightly with a weak smile and inclined her head towards the elf a little bit. “Although ‘awkward situation’, as you put it, doesn’t cover it,” she chuckled, “But hey, it’s not a very friendly place, don’t you think?”

“Courtesy is a rare pleasure in these parts, indeed,” he admitted with a smile of his own, “though your accent suggests you are no more local than I...” he scratched his chin, then straightened his posture and removed his dark hood. Underneath it there was a subtle expression of relief. “I suppose introductions are in order after that little fiasco,” he said, “Aloth Corfiser, at your service.”

“Severin Cantor,” she extended her hand in greeting. The handshake was firm and not quite what she was expecting. The priestess then realized she wasn’t looking her usual self at all: the night before, she hardly slept, and the dark bags under her eyes were getting prominent. She was tired, weak, and short-tempered, and although she did her best to combat all of it, it was still difficult. The strawberry-blond hair under the topped cone hat was tarnished, dirty and slick with with fat from weeks of travel, and from time to time she wrapped a curl on her index finger thoughtfully. The cheekbones were protruding noticeably on a previously almost perfectly round face, the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and mouth seemed much deeper, and the tics persisted. She was the spitting image of a deathly ill woman. It was as if her life energy was siphoned by some otherworldly being, one she could never hope to find. Severin never feared death, never feared passing through the Wheel, but the feeling of slowly withering away was frightening to the very core of her soul. Still, she managed to find some courage and friendliness to continue speaking. “Nice to meet you, Aloth,” she said.

“You’re very observant, Severin,” the elf said with admiration, “not many here would be able to recognize a wizard straight away. I should consider myself very fortunate that you managed to do it when you did.”

“Even if I didn’t,” the Eothasian replied, “I would have found something else to catch on. Words are trivial,” she sighed, “they are rarely worth a fight. I’d like to think they would have regretted getting involved even if they hurt you, but I doubt it. And anyway, I wouldn’t tell a man to go fuck his sister if I were a guest in this town. But hey, it’s just me.”

“Ah. That.” Aloth’s face adopted a rather awkward expression, and he turned his gaze away, adjusting the sleeves of his coat. “As I tried to tell them, they misheard me. Happens all too easily after a few pints, and the accent doesn’t help.”

“Strange, considering I heard the same thing,” Severin said.

“My… command of the language isn’t that good at the moment,” he confessed, "It’s not for the lack of education, mind you,” he rushed to his own defense swiftly before she could reply, “you see, I am not the most sociable person and quite frankly, I’m not used to… running in such circles...”

“It’s all right,” she replied, “I wasn’t judging you. It’s not my place to do so.” The elf seemed to relax slightly as he heard the words. “I’m not very good at speaking common either. I’m self-taught. But I wish I weren’t.”

“Your accent...” he hesitated for a moment before speaking, “I confess I cannot place it. Where are you from?”

The conversation was gradually becoming too much for Severin. The fatigue was settling in forcefully, it felt like a huge boulder was placed onto her shoulders and she had to carry it everywhere she went. Her soul felt heavier, as well, and it was for the first time in her life that she could feel it like some kind of an internal organ, but more ethereal, more spiritual. She could feel it in every fibre of her being. “The far away land of the White that Wends,” the priestess finally said, “Look, there’s something I need to do and… You’ve clearly been here longer than I have, maybe you know something...”

“What is it?” the elf asked, eager to answer.

Severin had no idea how to approach the issue. She hesitated. “You may find it odd,” she said to Aloth, “and you may not even believe it, but on my way here I stumbled upon some kind of ritual, I don’t know what it was, but it caused a bîaŵac, and it did something to me...” the Eothasian cleared her throat, then continued. “I can’t really explain what’s wrong, it feels like everything is. Like it’s some kind of soul sickness…”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, “I think this is something an animancer would concern himself with… but is there anything _I_ can do?”

“You might,” Severin replied thoughtfully as she slowly pulled the memories from her mind, one by one, “I thought I might recover if I slept, but… As I dreamt, I saw a dwarven woman calling out my name… Her face was so close to me I could feel her putrid breath… and then I saw her from afar, again, she was hanging on the tree in the village square, and… When I woke up, I think I remembered seeing her really hanging there, not in a dream, but in reality… And now I think I want to see if I was right.”

“O...kay.” The priestess wasn’t sure what his reaction would be, but it was quite close to what she was expecting. “Do you want me to… _accompany_ you?” he asked guardedly, unsure in his own words, the question mark hanging in the air.

“I was going to ask if you knew who that woman was…” Severin said, equally as guardedly as he did. “Or why she’s hanging in that tree.”

“No, sorry,” he apologized, “I have no idea who she was. But we could ask around, maybe somebody knows something. The Magistrate probably does, but I heard he went to the castle...”

The priestess felt unwanted here. It wasn’t surprising. Indeliberately, she hid the sleeves of her mantle. It was hand embroidery she did herself that she hid; the edge of the left sleeve said _If thou are broken, he shall make thee whole_ , and the right, _If thou are sinful, thou shall be reborn_. The edges were mustard-yellow and the letters were embroidered in thick black thread. She brushed the sleeves away with great care, after all, she considered the mantle to be her masterpiece. Many long nights had she spent by the candlelight, sewing and knitting like her mother had taught her, working on a design that one day had sprung in her mind. The colour she chose, dark mauve, was that of Readceran nobility, and she indeed used vorlas in creating the mantle, but she never considered Readceras her home, and neither did she the White.

Her home was on the road.

Fourteen years ago, Eothas had stopped answering her prayers. The Scattered God, they would start calling him. To her, he was still the God of Light, the bringer of life. _Thy soul shall find warmth in his arms,_ she repeated out loud every morning. By that time, she had already left the White. The priestess slowly drifted from town to town, from country to country, bringing only a handful of coins and his word with her. She had been to Ixamitl, the Living Lands and the Vailian Republics, the Aedyre Empire and Readceras, but never the Dyrwood. She couldn’t bring herself to go. It was too much. Too much doubt, too much grief.

Though Severin was warmly hailed in Readceras, she couldn’t stay there either, even though it felt right. Nine long years she spent in seclusion and solitude on the border between Readceras and the Dyrwood, living in a small abandoned log cabin, sustaining herself on dried venison, herbs and spring water. Overwhelmed with grief, she had no idea what to do with herself, and confined herself in penance. It took her nine years to realize that she had to go back, to do his work if she wanted him to return – she never truly believe he was dead, she thought he was out there, somewhere. So she put on her robe, put an estoc she was taught how to use in the Republics in its scabbard, left, and never looked back.

She had to move on from Gilded Vale, but she couldn’t. It was as if something had tied her to this place. “You know,” she suddenly said to Aloth, “I _would_ like you to accompany me. If something happens, you can send for help. I doubt others will do anything in case there’s something wrong.”


	3. Strange Harvest

He woke up early in the morning. Earlier than usual and earlier than his job on the farm demanded. Since they hanged his headman for nothing two days ago, he found himself distracted and unable to toil. He knew full well before he wasn’t welcome, but what Raedric’s men did was the last straw for him. He finally decided to leave Gilded Vale, his childhood home. It was no better than a slaughterhouse where the butcher does not concern himself with whom he executes and for what; where it’s all the same to him.

As Edér got out of bed in his cold and empty family home, the first thing he did was smoke whiteleaf. He stuffed the pipe with careful, knowing movements, lit it, and started inhaling the smoke slowly, bit by bit. It always did a good job of calming his anger, of which there was almost nothing left at that point. He felt completely and utterly drained. “Swithin, you poor bastard,” he thought bitterly.

It should have been him.

They came at midday, when the work was in full swing. The farm wasn’t a big one, and it didn’t require many hands, so when the militiamen showed up, it caused a huge stir between the workers. They whispered under their breaths, giving Raedric’s men frightened looks. But not Edér who thought he was safe, who thought a veteran’s reputation might be a guarantee of safety. He was tilling the soil lazily and shielded his eyes from the sun, not paying attention to lord’s men. Whatever they wanted, he couldn’t help them. He was a just man doing honest day’s work, a man who stopped going to the temple when they razed it to the ground, just as they wanted. But as the rumors started circulating that Lord Raedric wanted to rededicate the temple to Berath, it did nothing to break his faith, scarce as it was. Always ambivalent, he would still wear the amulet with the rising sun and stars under his shirt.

The men were agitated and easily irritable. They pulled the workers from their toil, one by one, to question, and when it proved to be in vain, their leader, a bald man with a round, meaty face, whom Edér had never met before, said that they knew on good authority one of them was working for Kolsc, planning to overthrow Raedric, and they came to find whoever it was.

It went like this: the leader stepped forward, ordered the workers to form a line, and told them that if the traitor didn’t come forward, they would hang everyone. Everyone was still, gripped with fear, turning their heads left and right to see if anyone would step forward. No one did. Edér didn’t trust any information these men were in possession of; the locals had probably pointed their fingers in different directions, as always, and Raedric’s men believed it, of course. That’s what he was telling himself as he chewed on a spikelet of wheat. His captain during the war and now his foreman stood next to him, at his right side.

And then he stepped forward.

After he lost Woden to the war and their parents moved to Aedyr, Swithin, who was an only child in his family and fancied Edér his younger brother, became hos closest and most trusted friend. All those years ago, during the confrontation with Waidwen’s forces, he repeatedly shielded him from attacks, took several blows for him and nearly died because of it. And when the Purges began, he often said that to get to Edér, they would have to get through him first.

They finally did.

Raedric’s men grabbed Swithin by the arms and started dragging him away. He didn’t resist.

“No!” Edér exclaimed. “Let him go!”

“Don’t,” Swithin said. “there’s nothing you can do.”

And he was right. There were too many of them, and they were armed from head to toe. Cowards, Edér said to himself as he clenched his fists in desperation. Despite the atrocities of Saint’s War, it was the single ugliest thing he had ever seen. And that was when he decided to it was too much.

It didn’t take him long to gather his things. He donned the old armor, from back in the day, grabbed his shield and put a sabre on his belt. Then he took his coin purse where a half-year’s earnings were waiting patiently to be spent and tucked in in a small travel backpack. Edér was ready to go, but had no idea where, so first he decided to say a final goodbye to the man who treated him like family.

  
  


It was cold outside. The autumn had come, and with it, the downpours. Edér shrinked uncomfortably under his cloak that was way too short for his height. The hamlet dwellers were in for a treat: a poor harvest. The crops were blighted. Gilded Vale, he chuckled to himself. These days, it might as well be Rotten Vale. Or something of a kind, he couldn’t think of something clever and abandoned the thought.

He walked slowly amid the ruins of the temple that was once deemed holy and sacred, where priests didn’t have to hide in fear of being executed and where they praised Eothas’s word. Before the war. Before Waidwen. Before the Purges began. It used to be a small church, akin to the town itself, but it always welcomed those in need with open arms and hearts. Now every symbol of the Scattered God was erased, even those set in stone.

But something bright caught his attention: a swath of pale yellow and even reddish hair and long sleeves, flopping in the heartless wind. It was the woman he winked at the day before. Her look was fixed at the tree with gnarled branches, she was tiptoeing on the spot, as if hesitating to move closer. Edér couldn’t boast the greatest eyesight, but as he was looking at her, he noticed something that made his heart jump: the words he knew all too well.

He carefully counted the bodies hanging from the tree and sighed. _Lady Nineteen,_ he thought sadly as he lit up his pipe.

  
  


Like all the others, the square shape of the dwarven woman slightly swayed back and forth, almost gently. The stench was almost unbearable. Severin didn’t dare touch the body, let alone search the dead dwarf’s pockets, but something in her dim silhouette, partially obscured by the morning mist, called out to her, like she was in Severin’s dream. Aloth trailed somewhere close behind, wrinkling his nose and covering his mouth as not to inhale the nasty smell.

Suppressing the urge to retch, the priestess stepped forward, unsure, and felt something unravel in her deeper consciousness. If her soul felt completely still and rigid before, at that point it was filled with something Severin couldn’t quite describe. Around the body of the deceased elderly dwarf she could now see a shadowy, otherworldly glow. As she tried to reach out to it, she felt a lukewarm touch of sparse void that separated them. The stench scattered, as if it never existed in the first place, and all Severin could see was the corpse and the tree it was hanging on.

And then the dwarf smiled at her.

“Have you come to visit me, dear?” she asked in a motherly voice, inclining her head slightly. “Or have you simply gotten lost?” Her pale face appropriated a concerned but willful expression. “Ah, it is both I think. Yes?”

Before Severin began to speak, she heard her own thoughts out loud, echoing in the darkness of the vast nothingness: “Is this real? How can this be? Am I dreaming again?”

“I am afraid not,” the woman replied sadly, and for a split second it seemed to Severin that she sounded sympathetic and mournful. “It seems like an easy way out, no? But I’m afraid things aren’t so simple here, wherever ‘here’ might be.”

The priestess hesitated before asking a question that was loosely spinning and spinning in her mind but couldn’t assume any shape. “Did I… die?” she finally asked as she continued to look in the blank, bleached eyes of the deceased. In Severin’s mind, the voices echoed like they would in an empty hall.

The dwarf chuckled. “No, no, of course not, you are alive, don’t worry, dear. And perhaps you’re even more alive than any other mortal out there,” she claimed. “You’re so much more.”

“Who are you? What did you do to deserve this?”

“My name is Caldara de Berranzi,” she introduced herself curtly. “Recently of the Vailian Royal Academy of Animantic Sciences. You must have heard of the Hollowborn curse… It is a tragedy, truly a tragedy… But it’s something I as an animancer am meant to cure, to help… _was_ meant,” she corrected herself grimly, “ _was_ meant. I am still not used to this condition… So nice of you to come see me, dear… To answer your question. I came here precisely because help was needed, and even though I am far from the greatest scientists the Vailian Republics can boast, I knew I had to help somehow. So I offered my services to Lord Raedric for a humble pay. He was somehow convinced that his wife’s soul was riddled with impurities...”

As Caldara went on, Severin started seeing images, as if she was flipping the pages of a children’s book, filled with colourful illustrations. The dwarven woman’s voice slowly faded. Severin saw a long-haired blonde woman, late with child, with her hand over her huge belly, moving in tender stroking motions and smiling meekly. A picture of health. And she could see her soul and the aura that was permeating it: inside her chest there was a ball of soft, warm light that was spreading around, illuminating the darkness around them. Then, a man appeared, clad in steel, with a grim expression on his roughcast face. His soul was immense in size, but of a dull and insipid grey colour. His roughness was seeping into the air and into the woman’s soul, as if trying to poison it.

“What is this?” Severin asked the dwarf when the image started to slowly disappear. “Is this your memory? Or am I just imagining this?”

“You can see what I have seen, good,” a flash of admiration crossed Caldara’s ugly face. “You’re finding a way to adjust to your new condition. If you’re afraid, don’t be. It will soon pass. You will get used to it, you’ll have to. Not like you have any choice in this matter,” the woman chuckled.

“It’s not going to pass?”

“Oh no, I’m afraid not. You’re a Watcher now,” Caldara said, “and a Watcher you will stay.”

Severin’s voice quivered. “Is this some sort of a curse, then?” she asked.

“Some may say that, but for me, it would be oh but a blessing. To see the souls for what they are, to be able to converse with the dead…” the dead animancer sounded truly inspired, “It could further the science of animancy, bring new discoveries… But alas, I am but a dead woman, and it’s up to no one but you to decide what to do with your… gift.”

“I don’t want this,” Severin rasped, her gaze distracted and turned inward. “I never wanted this. It’s wrong, it’s just wrong. It wasn’t supposed to happen. I should have-”

“Is there something bothering you, dear?”

“Of course there’s something…” she stopped herself. “What am I to do now? I think I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see, and then I was supposed to die in a bîaŵac, but I didn’t… And now I’m stuck with _this_.” The knot of essence which was Severin trembled as she repeated her question. “What am I to do now?”

Caldara tried to console the priestess. “If you think that being dead is better than to be alive but in this condition, don’t. You don’t know what it means to be dead, to have your soul wander the In-Between. You should consider yourself lucky,” she smiled soothingly, “Perhaps your soul is simply stronger than you think, or maybe it carries a heavy burden and that was why the bîaŵac couldn’t lift it.” A sudden surge of enthusiasm overwhelmed the dwarf, and, after a pause, she continued speaking. “You should pay Maerwald a visit. He is an old Watcher, holed up in the ancient keep of Caed Nua, not far from here, not far. I’m sure he knows more about being a Watcher than I ever will-” she sighed, “than I ever _would._ ”

  
  


He waited and waited, but the woman didn’t move. Edér refilled his pipe. Twice. The mysterious stranger never as much as flinched. Becalmed, he watched her closely. Under the hat there was a voluminous mop of hair that continued lower as two thin braids which rested peacefully on her chest. The hat itself was mauve, much like the mantle she wore, and had a mustard-yellow fringed edge. There was something strange about the eyes, because the only thing he could see was the whites. He took a couple of huge steps forward and stood in front of her. No reaction. He waved his hand in front of her face which was lifted up; the mouth was slightly open in mid-gasp. Again, she remained motionless. Then he noticed the elf who was nervously tiptoeing about.

“Is your friend here all right?” Edér asked him. “Looks like she’s havin’ some kind of seizure?”

Aloth moved to face the priestess. “Severin?..” he called slowly, syllable by syllable, but received to answer. “I am not a medical professional, but that doesn’t look right at all,” the elf concluded as he examined Severin’s rolled up eyes.

“Better get her away from here before anyone else notices,” the farmer frowned. “It’s not safe.”

Severin sneezed. For a moment, it felt like her soul managed to get away because of it, but then she looked around in panic like a cornered animal and touched her chest for reassurance. Everything was in place. Then she noticed the concerned looks of two men. “I’m fine,” she answered the unasked question as she exhaled rapidly. “Everything’s fine.”

She was hyperventilating.

Edér didn’t fuss. He gave her some time to come to her senses, then gently took her by the sleeve, and led her sideways, pointing at the letters and keeping his voice low. “Lady, you don’t want to be strolling around here dressed like _that_ ,” he said conspiratorially, “just givin’ you some friendly advice. Might wanna reconsider your fashion choices.”

Severin sounded defeated. “It’s not a choice,” she explained tiredly, as if she had been participating in a week-long debate on this topic. “It’s a _calling_.”

“I can respect that,” the man nodded, “but others here? They won’t. Soon they’ll come pointing fingers at ya and no one is safe when that happens. Severin, right? If I were you, I wouldn’t stay too long.”

“I’m not going to. I just need to do a few things and then I’m ready to move on.”

“Where to?”

“Some place called Caed Nua,” she told him reluctantly and quietly as she continued sulking, “I don’t even know where that is. Or how to get there. I don’t have any maps with me.”

Edér grinned. Something friendly flickered in his eyes. “Old Maerwald’s keep? I know the place, like. I could show you the way.”

Aloth coughed audibly but mostly kept to himself.

“It would be very kind of you,” the priestess admitted, “but why would you do that for a stranger? You don’t even know me. We’ve only just… met, if you can call it that.”

“Well,” he said, “for starters, I’m no more wanted in this town than you are. Let’s just say we’re of a kind, you and I. Us Eothasians should stick together. There aren’t many of us left, ‘specially in this part of the world.”

“And here I thought I could expect nothing good from Gilded Vale,” Severin bowed her head courteously. “I’m happy to learn I was wrong. I’m very grateful for your offer. I just hope my... companion here,” she said loudly as she turned around, “doesn’t mind the company.”

“Oh- me?” the elf said distractedly as he scratched his cheek, “No, of course not. Are we-” he hesitated before continuing, “are we going somewhere?”

“Yes, but not right now,” Severin reassured him gently. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to leave town. _I_ have unfinished business here, and besides, I’m in need of a bath.”

Edér chuckled softly to himself. There it was, his first genuine smile since Swithin’s execution.


	4. Faint Smell of Soap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm really, really sorry if someone has been waiting for this. My academic life and work took a toll on me and I couldn't find inspiration. Now I'm back and hopefully in the same rhythm as before

“I think you should know something,” Severin said grimly as the door of Edér’s house closed tight behind them, “and you may not like it… But it’s not going to change any time soon, and you might as well learn of my... _predicament,_ ” she pushed the word out forcefully of her clenched teeth. “And first of all, you should know it’s not something I’ve been holding out on you.”

“Go on,” Aloth said cautiously, his intonation that of a soft question. “We’re listening.”

The farmer  shrugged and  skimmed the room like it was  totally  unfamiliar to him.  “For what it’s worth, you’re safe here, friend,”  he said  reassuringly . “Can’t say t hat about the outside  thoug h … Just hopin’ you’re not some kinda murderer on the run.”

“All right.” She exhaled and turned to face the two. “Do you know what a Watcher is?”

Edér  looked ghoulishly amused.  “ H ey ,”  he began, “ is that why you looked so weird hangin’ around that tree?  Lady, i f there was a single thing folk might  hang you for in Gilded Vale – and I’m not talking ‘bout you being Eothasian – you’ve found it. Watchers, animancers,  apprentice wizards …”  He glared at Aloth.  “It’s all the same here. ”

“And the magistrate has already returned, it seems,” the elf added, visibly uncomfortable, “we probably shouldn’t stay long.” Curiosity crossed his narrow face. “Forgive me if I’m prying, Severin…” he said politely, “I’m just wondering, how exactly did you discover your… condition?”

“When I told you two I was fine...” she hesitated, “I think I might have overstated it. And I didn’t exactly learn this on my own. In fact, I was _told_. I never would have guessed such a thing, really.”

“Who told you?” Edér asked, puzzled.

“The dwarven woman, Caldara I think she was called.”

“Raedric’s animancer?”

“Yeah,” Severin said darkly, “she was speaking with me and showing me things… I think she was trying to make it easier for me to understand… Poor woman. She was killed for nothing. Raedric wanted something from her, something that wasn’t within her power to give, and because of this, he-”

“That’s the way we live out here, yeah,” Edér admitted gratingly, interrupting her. “Lotsa good men thrown to the gallows for choosing the wrong word… or the wrong god,” he added. “You either get used to it, or you leave. Not much getting used to these days.”

Aloth recoiled in horror. “How long has it been that way?”  he asked.

“The hangings? Started ‘round the time we learned Raedric’s wife was with child,” the man replied. “And that was pretty late in the pregnancy, or so I hear. It’s like he got bitten by a rabid dog, sending his men here every other week, to ‘cleanse’ his lands from anything that might bring harm to the child. No one’s really safe here, in Gilded Vale. My neighbors,” he pointed out the window, “knew ‘em very well, used to be Eothasian, but converted before the Purges… Thought they were safe, but someone had to go pointing fingers and they ended up in that tree. Uh, preemptive measures,” he hissed, “that’s what they called it. Corrupting influence and the like. So you two,” the farmer looked at Severin and Aloth, “chose the worst possible time. No offense.”

“I had hoped for a position here at some minor court, with all those rumors of plentiful land... but something tells me there’s none to be had.” The elf scratched his cheek with his thumb thoughtfully as he attempted to justify himself. “Not after all this.”

“Trust me, friend,” Edér shook his head, “you don’t want any position at Raedric’s court. Man’s a bastard, and a cruel one at that.”

“He seems to be under the impression that there’s some kind of scourge here,” Severin said, “and he sees it everywhere.”

“He’s not mistaken, though,” the farmer said, “we _do_ have the Legacy here. Raedric just thinks he’s the one to eradicate it, so he chooses his methods as he sees fit.”

“Then he doesn’t see much at all,” Severin declared bluntly. “Does he believe putting violence on display will somehow please Berath or whatever deity he has chosen? Or is he simply doing to spite a god which has already been killed?”

“Do you believe it was _Eothas_ they killed at Evon Dewr?” he asked in disbelief.

“I don’t know,” Severin confessed, “but _he_ seems to certainly think so. There’s one thing I’m certain of, however: Eothas lives. Whether it was actually him who marched on the Dyrwood or not. And there’s nothing in this world that can convince me otherwise. I don’t know,” she reiterated, “I don’t think it is possible to slay a god anyway.”

“Has he talked… to you? I mean, did you have some kinda vision? Maybe all priests are like that, but you seem so certain.”

“Do I really?” the priestess chuckled. “He hasn’t answered to my prayers. I hear only silence and feel only the cold grip of the Wheel. I have many doubts. But faith is nothing if it’s untested. I have chosen this path for myself, and I’m not going to stray from it.”

“D’you think he’d just talk if he was alive?” Edér scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Because all I hear is silence. It’s like he turned away from us. But then again, I haven’t prayed in years.”

“Perhaps it was us who turned away from him,” she said passionately. “What if it was really him, Edér? What have we done?”

“Not to interrupt your theological discussion,” Aloth coughed, “which I’m sure is very productive, but I think we need to discuss when we’re leaving town.”

“We should do it as soon as possible, of course,” Severin said, “but the thing is I need to do a couple of things first. And I’m not sure how much time it’s going to take, so let’s move out at dawn.”

Edér  looked skeptical,  but was willing to help .  It was written plainly on his face.  “You want some directions, Sev’?”  he asked.

The first thing she did was go to the marketplace and purchase a bar of scented soap. It smelled of grass fields and lavender, and she was willing to pay extra for exquisite craftsmanship. The priestess wondered if there was a soapmaker this talented in Gilded Vale or it was a long-forgotten ware from some kind of travelling merchant. After years of seclusion, it felt so strange to look at an object, especially so insignificant, this fondly, but she did. Severin was glad to have bought it.

She chose a secluded place near some pond she passed on her way to the little hamlet, just outside of its limits, where no one came to do their laundry. After she made sure she was completely alone, she undid her hair, jumped out of her clothes, and slowly submerged in the water. The rippling surface covered her head, and all she could see around was her soft sun-touched curls undulating in the clear water. The pond itself wasn’t deep, but it was enough for her to kneel to be completely covered head to toe. Severin dove back, water trickling down her body, soap squeezed tightly in her hand, and inhaled. Although the priestess bore no particular love for her own body, she knew she had to take good care of it so that it would carry her through life. She was never afraid of death, but neither did she seek it. Her life wasn’t entirely hers, not anymore. The moment she pledged herself to Eothas, it became his.

As she soaped up her hair, she smiled stiffly at herself. Perhaps her life always belonged to the Shining God. That’s what she wanted to believe so badly, and for many,  many years. Ginger wasn’t a very common hair colour back in  her village in the White –  and to make matters worse, neither of her parents were light-haired. I n her darkest moments she lulled herself to sleep thinking that perhaps she was  in some way  touched by the God of Light.  Not in the way the godlike were touched, of course, but Severin often hoped he somehow brushed against her soul, perhaps by mistake or even unknowingly. It was a shameful, prideful thing to admit, so she always remained with the thought alone, face-to-face.

The strange vision that came to her, with its unknown and eerie familiarity, consumed her thoughts again. A strange figure in the night, in his ceremonial garment of noble purple colour, stood in the distance, concealed by the dust and the nightly mist, surrounded by hooded acolytes. And in a moment, they became no more than just crumbling shapes frozen forever in terror. But the man remained, his features imprinted in Severin’s mind, and the memories she never suspected about, started to resurface. There she was, with him, in a time not familiar, a time she couldn’t say whether it was past or future or present… The only thing she could feel and the only thing that felt real was that the body she found herself in wasn’t hers, and that there were thoughts and intentions and questions that did not belong to her, but to someone else entirely. Nothing was comparable to it, but at the same time, Severin felt at home.

The priestess decided she never wanted to feel something like that again.

She spent the remainder of the afternoon drying and braiding her hair, sitting on  a warm  rock and watching the water. It suddenly occurred to her that it had been too long since  she went to church. A temple, for her, was always on the road, under the sun, but it always paid to be in a place of worship where there were those who shared her faith. A surge of inspiration overwhelmed her, and an idea sprung in her mind. It felt dangerous, but not wrong, not in the least.  But it was something she couldn’t do right away.

She was a harbinger of bad news.

  
  


…Shivering like a leaf, clinging to her half-soaked clothes, she was freezing in the autumnal warmth. The wheels of the wagon were creaking under the weight of its passengers and their haul. The air was stiff and stale inside. It made her feel sick. She could smell her own sweat, and it was far from musky. From time to time, her organs twisted in dull pain. Every sound was too loud, and went right for her brain, echoing and vibrating, drawing all her attention and causing pure, undiluted anxiety. With each passing moment, she wanted to curl up into a ball more and more, as she shifted uncomfortably in hopes of finding one position in which she would feel better. Her eyes were closed, but she could feel the looks.

Was it something in the water? No, it couldn’t have been, the others would be feeling sick as well. Can’t be food, either. Something airborne? Something she’d picked before the journey?

“Hey,” Severin heard, and looked up to see a dark-skinned man squinting, “are you contagious?”

“Wish I knew,” the priestess managed to squeeze the words out of her mouth, “I hope not.”

The man continued to eye her suspiciously ,  but said little else. It went on for what felt like hours upon hours, but soon the air became cooler, and the wind started whistling eerily. Severin b egan shivering, and  she was  shivering uncontrollably.  It was as if she was soaked to the bone after a downpour. Although she wore many layers of clothing, it wasn’t enough to keep her flesh warm because the chill was  coming from the inside.

The man’s companion, a fair-haired woman, nudged him gently. “We should stop,” she said quietly, “this will only get worse.” She lowered her voice and whispered, “I fear she might not make it through the night.”

The man made a displeased snort and stood up, shakily, trying to look out of the wagon, when all three of them felt it slowly coming to a halt. A moment passed, and they heard a husky voice call out, “The road ahead is blocked, and the weather is getting nastier by the minute. We will go no further tonight.”

“Can you stand?” the woman asked after the man had already jumped off the wagon. “We really ought to tell the caravan master. Maybe he can do something about it? Or knows someone who can...” She hesitated and twitched like she was going to approach the priestess, but remained in place. “Come. You look like you need some fresh air. Smells like vomit in here.”

I t really did. So when Severin  felt the chilly wind brush against her skin, there was a small wave of relief. She put her hand over her stomach as if she was keeping her guts from spilling out, and to her, it seemed it was quite close to the truth – it was as if her innards had been twisted in a knot which was tightening and tig h tening  as she moved .

It was dark. The moon was enshrouded in thick black clouds and looked feeble and weak. So were the stars. Severin noticed the faint glow of adra in the distance, where the caravan master was brandishing his lantern as if it were a weapon. People around him were huddling up together, wrapping themselves in their cloaks, looking around and keeping away from the crumbling stone walls that surrounded them.

A bored-looking, tall woman wearing scale armor  approached her, squinting. Nothing in her face or posture betrayed a hint of worry or concern, and yet, she asked without hesitatio n. “Hey, are you all right?”

Calisca’s face had broad, chiseled features  and her forehead was slightly covered with coarse blonde hair. There were  little creases around the corners of her thin-lipped mouth, but she didn’t look like someone who smiled often. Nevertheless, she didn’t give the impression of being cruel or violent. There was a feeling Severin couldn’t quite suppress, she wanted to trust this woman who was the walking embodiment of someone who was accustomed to pulling much more than their  own  weight.

“No, not really,” the priestess answered. “I feel really sick. Like my guts are all scrambled.”

“Can’t be good,” Calisca replied, exhausted. “See that fallen tree over there? Can’t say I’m looking forward to moving that tomorrow morning. You heard what Odema said. We’re not going anywhere tonight. So he might as well try to do something about you.”

“Calisca,” the caravan master said as he came closer to the woman, “I need you here. You busy?”

“No,” she said, what d’you need done?”

His attention quickly switched to Severin. He looked displeased, but feigned concern. “You look unwell.  Good we stopped. ”

“Rumbling rot might be,” Calisca said, looking somewhere tiredly. “But I’m no expert.”

“This case you’ll be fine,” Odema reassured, “it’s easy to catch in these parts, but hard to die of. But you’ll need plenty of water. Calisca, go fetch Sparfel. He’s got all the waterskins. See to it she’s had enough of water. I don’t want to be disposing of a dead body first thing in the morning.”

The woman sighed, but she looked like she expected this to happen. “Sure.” She nodded towards Severin, jerking her head sideways. “You heard the man, let’s take a short stroll.”

D espite her languor, Calisca’s eyes remained sharp and her gain confident.  In one hand, she carried a torch, in another an axe.  Mercilessly, she lead Severin forward, towards a small river, her pace quick and steady. The priestess lagged behind, so the guide slowed down as well, albeit a bit apprehensively. She did her best to look like she didn’t want to initiate small talk, but even in her sorry state, Severin could plainly see that Calisca was eager to have a conversation.

“You heading to Gilded Vale?”

“Yes,” Severin exhaled, “but I’m not staying there.”

“You don’t look like the sort who would. Spiritual type, eh? I wouldn’t either. Good little hamlet, but not for me. Haven’t been there quite a while,” the guide let a dreamy sigh escape her chest, “got a sister there, real homebody, she is.”

“Visiting?” the priestess asked politely through laboured breathing.

“Yeah. Got a letter from her, ‘bout a month ago. Aufra’s no wizard, and there wasn’t nothing bad in that letter, but it was like I could feel she was worried writing it. So I’m coming back for here. Got no one else but me,” she said, biting her lip, “widowed recently. Can’t let her down, leave her on her own out there.”

These were the words that rang in her head again and again, spinning and spinning  when she saw Calisca’s slumped body on the ground, face down, limbs lifeless and without motion, short axe in a deadly grip.  Her soul was gone, carried by the wind. There was nothing Severin could do. Still in shock, she said some parting words, Eothasian custom, performed a blessing and wished her a better fate in her next life. Then she ran as fast as she could before she got overwhelmed.

  
  


It pained her, but it was even more painful for Aufra. Severin could swear she was radiating kindness and hospitality, but all that was erased as she heard what the priestess came to tell her. “Oh,” was all she could say as she slumped down a chair. As she did, Severin noticed her pregnant belly. She winced and suddenly, for the first time in many years, found herself at a total loss for words.

“I am so, so sorry. If I had known...” she lamented, “I… I don’t honestly know what I’d would have done instead. Would’ve told you to sit down at least.”

“It’s alright,” the woman replied, fighting back tears, “I am grateful for your visit. Someone would have come, sooner rather than later, and you seem like decent sort. Can’t be said about most ‘round ‘ere.”

The priestess bit her lip, enough to taste blood.  Aufra did not deserve this. For a moment, she regretted telling her the truth, but quickly realized that not knowing would be a torture. The decision was the right one, albeit very difficult.  Never before had she felt guilt for simply being alive.  There was no doubt in her mind that  it was something that couldn’t  have  be en avoided – death always was  a close prospect, but the death of another always hit hard. But  if nothing,  Severin  always  had Eothas. Aufra had no one.

“I didn’t have the honour of knowing her for a very long time,” the priestess said softly, “but I could say from the moment I met her that she was a good woman.” She took Aufra’s warm small hand and gave it a little squeeze, and the grieving woman didn’t resist, but neither did she react in any way. “She cared about you a great deal, and she was very worried. It was written on her face. So I can’t just leave you with this all alone. There must be something I can do for you.”

“You probably understand now why I was worried,” Aufra sniffled quietly, “and why I wanted her with me, here. With the Legacy, and with my husband dead, it is so dangerous to be here, in Gilded Vale. Every child that’s been born, well, they’re all Hollowborn. Lord Raedric is displeased with this, and each woman who gives birth to a soulless child, is exiled… He says it’s the sign of the gods’ disavour… That they are a blight that must be purged, that this is a punishment for our sins… I don’t have anywhere to go. And I don’t have much time… So I thought if I had Calisca with me here, I’d at least have someone...”

“What would you two do?”

“At least we’d be together. If we had to go, then we would. We still have our parents, but I can’t think I’ll be ablt to make the journey alone with a baby… If it’s Hollowborn… You know, I’ve lead an honest life. Working for most of it. I’ve never lied, cheated or stolen. And I was in a happy marriage… As most of the mothers here,” Aufra shook her head. “But still the Magistrate echoes Raedric’s words about corruption and about sins when he and his people force the women and their families away.”

“The Gilded Vale is almost empty,” Severin said mournfully. “This is where he pulled out all of the available property and work opportunities. Because he’s driving people away.”

“Work opportunities?” the widow chuckled in pain. “What is there to do? There’s no positions here, the crops are blighted, we barely have enough to survive and feed those who remain… The traders and the craftsmen flee at the first opportunity, and everyone else drinks their sorrows away at the Black Hound. I used to scrub laundry for coin, but now my back aches and I can’t do much… It’s my first pregnancy, as you can see,” she moved her hand a little to demonstrate how little space there was inside her house and how empty it was, “and I am on my own. They used to talk about that old midwife, who knew how to cure the curse… But she has since moved on from the village… Lives in a hut, near the coast… Wish that I could travel there, but the roads aren’t safe anymore and I’m in no condition to.”

Severin kept silent for a bit.  Although her words were filled with bitterness and sadness, Aufra looked somewhat relieved. It looked as if she hadn’t had the chance to talk about what’s been bothering her for quite some time. She wasn’t sure if this was because she couldn’t confide in anyone or if it was too dangerous to complain.

“To be honest, I haven’t left home for quite a while,” the widow snorted. “This tree… I can’t bear to look at it. My soul is restless, and...” she looked down. “It’s not good for the baby.”

“Doesn’t anyone here look after you? No one at all?” the priestess narrowed her eyes. “This midwife you mentioned, is she the only one?”

“This trade has become such a burden for them But more for us… Still, they move on. We had Bertha,” Aufra said, “but she had to go to the castle. Gods only know what will happen to her… What he’ll do...”

“Listen,” Severin urged the widow, “I know I’m not the person you were waiting for to come knocking on your door. And I know that nothing I will do will ever ease your grief… But if there’s something I can do to help, I’m here. I knew your sister, if only briefly, and now I know you, and I just can’t let it stay as it is. Please don’t be humble in this. Ask what you need. However difficult, I’ll do my best. I’m not planning on staying here, but I might be able to do some good.”

“I don’t know if what they say is true… This ranga, south-a-ways, some say she knows a way to...” She stopped. “To prevent this curse. I’m so afraid, I can’t… I can’t bear this thought I’ll have to live with this… If there is something I can do to try, I must. The risk is too great. If you happen to be in the area, I’d be grateful if you asked if something can be done. I’ll do everything.” Aufra searched the pocket of her stained apron, grabbed some coins and handed them to Severin. “It isn’t much, but it should cover some supplies and if she asks for money...”

“No,” Severin closed Aufra’s palm with hers, “I can’t take it. You need it more than I do. Keep it. I can fend for myself, and I can buy my own supplies for the road. As for what this midwife has to say, we’ll see.”

“You’re kinder than most...” she replied, putting the coin back. “Perhaps… After all that’s happened...” the widow squeezed her eyes shut as she brushed the thought away hurriedly. “Thank you. It’s strange...”

“What is?”

“That you would help a total stranger. Why?”

“Because you are in need,” Severin said softly, “And because I want you to know that you are not alone. I want you to keep your hopes up. The sun rises, however long the night.”

“I never thought I’d hear something like this,” she smiled surreptitiously, but let anxiety take her back. “Be careful, and come back safe. If you think he’s protecting you, then so be it, I’m grateful either way.”


	5. War Crimes

S he snuck around the corner, and her boots made no sound. It was quiet in the big house, and there were no stars she could see through the dirty glass of the windows. Severin’s moist eyes glistened in the dark, despite there not being a single source of light; there were no candles, and the fire went out not long ago. It was getting cold. The priestess cringed. Somewhere in the room she left behind, the elf wheezed audibly.  The mountain of pillows on the other side had been strangely silent. She half-expected the farmer to snore loudly, but somehow he managed to subvert what she had in mind. Severin smiled at the thought and made a step forward towards the door.

And then it opened, and  Edér  entered, wrapped in a cloud of transparent smoke.  T he smell preceded the man. He looked surprised.

“Where you going?” he asked in a low voice, hanging over her like a huge rock. He was noticeably taller and had to lean a bit towards her to make eye contact, which was made even more difficult since they stood in the dark. “Tryin’ to sneak up on me, huh? Up to no good, you are, Sev’. What’s goin’ on?”

“Didn’t want to drag either of you into this,” she managed to say, apologetically shrugging. “Actually, I thought you were sleeping.”

“Matter of fact, I wasn’t,” the man eyed her suspiciously. “There something you hiding? Have I made a mistake inviting you in my home?”

“No. I see this doesn’t look well.” Severin sighed. “Believe it or not, but I would never dream to take advantage of your hospitality, Edér. You’ve been nothing but helpful. To me and Aloth.”

She saw he wanted to believe her, and that he didn’t want her to turn out to be a liar. Still, puzzlement was written plainly on his  broad, bearded  face.  “ Then why are you awake, sneaking ‘round? ”  he asked.

“I wanted to visit one place and then return before you two woke up. Told you,” she nodded, “didn’t want to drag you into this.”

“Stealin’ something?” the farmer’s brow crawled upwards slowly, like a worm. “Course I wouldn’t want to be dragged into something like that. I’m an honest man.”

“I’m not planning any crime,” Severin said, starting to get annoyed, “although your lord might consider it to be one.”

“Don’t tell me you meant to go peeking about the temple?” his voice rose, but still it was soft and quiet.

“I tell you precisely that,” she answered sternly, but not coldly. As she said that, determination surged in her heart. “It is a disgrace, what they did to it. But what they did to you, and to everyone else is much worse. It cannot stand,” Severin whispered, indignant, “I realize there isn’t much I can do here, and I don’t even know what I’ll find once I’m there… I can’t just _not_ go there. While I’m here, I mean.”

“Why? What do you think there’s to be done?”

“I told you I have no idea. But I can feel something,” she put her hand over her heart, “right here, calling me there…”

“Why did you come here, of all places?” Edér ushered the priestess towards the door gently, touching the hardened fabric of her sleeve and leading her forward. “Not just the Dyrwood, but Gilded Vale? You don’t look like you’re the one to settle down on a small piece of land. Not the type. It’s not Raedric’s lies that lured you in. Something else.”

“It was the center of Eothasian worship, was it not, Gilded Vale?” Severin asked, watching his contemplating expression closely. “I’ve heard a lot.”

“Yes,” he exhaled sharply, “and it was grand. The temple, it was the place you could go to and always find a friendly face. I grew up here. It was never a question, what god to follow.”

“It isn’t often that I see a temple huge as this in a small village,” she sighed. “But then again, he’s just the type to be worshiped in small settlements on the outskirts, where farmers toil endlessly.”

“It was the pride of Gilded Vale,” he admitted, “you reckon he’d like this? This temple here?”

“Whether he would or wouldn’t, it doesn’t matter now,” Severin replied grimly. “I know what he wouldn’t like, his followers being slaughtered like cattle, and the helpless exiled from their homes.” She gritted her teeth as she realized the was beginning to lose the thread of the conversation.

The two Eothasians closed the door behind them quietly and found themselves outside. It smelled like sour ale and stale piss, but it was strangely silent. No one was around, there were no lights and no signs of guards. They looked through the small houses to see the ghostly silhouette of  the  ruins, crowned by the gnarled tree. Both found themselves unable to make a step forward, as if an invisible forceful hand was keeping them from moving.

“Fifteen years is a _lot_ of time,” Severin said thoughtfully, nodding as if she was only talking to herself, and not Edér, “but it’s such a tremendous opportunity to think… You’re right. I didn’t come here to settle down. Land doesn’t interest me in the slightest. I haven’t had a place to call my own for as long as I can remember. But I _didn’t_ want to come here. To the Dyrwood. To Gilded Vale. I came because I had to. I tried to postpone this moment, but couldn’t do it forever.”

“But why? Who made you?”

“Something did. Something I can’t describe. It’s like a feeling, I don’t know,” she looked around anxiously as if she could find an answer like a physical object floating in the air, “a feeling of intense guilt. It was making me sick. Like I’ve done something very, very wrong. Only I don’t know what.”

“Placed your faith in the wrong god?” the farmer chuckled bitterly.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it feels like it’s coming from him. I… liked to believe,” she admitted as she experienced a surge of shame, “that I had some sort of connection. Understanding, even. It was so long ago it makes me feel strange, how mistaken you can be...”

“But was there something wrong? In what you had done… or hadn’t?”

“I’ve never murdered or stolen, and I made it a point to never lie… The Saint’s War I hadn’t even heard of before it was finished… I was a recluse at the time. Scattered around the world, unconcerned with what was going on, thought it was all unimportant. To be honest,” Severin looked at him with deep sadness in her dark eyes which reflected nothing, “I don’t know what I could have done differently. I think I would end up with this feeling either way. It’s just… Faith, at this point, can’t _not_ be a part of me. I just can’t unbecome Eothasian at will. With everything that it may mean to others. I accept it.”

The priestess could feel this devotion like it was a real, palpable organ in her body. The faith was so deeply ingrained in her being, she was sometimes convinced that if she were to draw blood, she’d see something more than crimson.  But then she’d see it, and there would be nothing out of the ordinary – thick human blood, no sign of godly intervention or influence. She placed her hands on her waist. She felt trapped.

“Sounds familiar. Can’t say I feel great about it either. I don’t know what to feel and what to believe about Eothas. It doesn’t even matter, really.” He lit his pipe. “If I reject him, this part of me won’t just go away forever.”

“And if you do...” Severin began, but was interrupted.

“And if I do,” Edér continued their common thought, “what if it wasn’t really him? In this Waidwen fellow? Then I would betray him. And not just once. It’d mean all this was for nothing.”

“Yes,” was the only thing she could reply.

  
  


T hey descended slowly. The stone staircase was crumbling, and the tunnel was narrow.  Edér  led, and Severin followed.  Their steps echoed in the dark, twinned and without any rhythm. His were heavy and wide, he was able to cover a big distance in one step, while Severin was struggling to keep up.

“Used to come ‘here often, with my parents and my brother,” he said when they reached the bottom, and his voice immediately filled the silence of the catacombs, its abandoned halls and corridors. “Not exactly _this_ place where we are now, I think this is where the priests used to live.” He waited for a second. “And where they performed the redemption ceremony. I’m sure you know the drill.”

“Can’t say that I do,” she said, puzzled, but then quickly regained composure. “I’m not a temple person. Never been a part of the clergy. But I’ve been in many temples in my life, although I have no idea what ceremony you’re talking about.”

“I’ll show you when we get there.” The woman heard him smile, but could only see the crooked edges of his lips in the dark. They didn’t look each other in their eyes, but she felt like he was smiling because he thought of a fond memory. “Let’s go,” he said.

She conjured a soft yellow flame which was dancing and flickering on her finger like candlelight. Two enlarged silhouettes moved slowly, trying to look around, and their shadows were reflected on the walls. There was restlessness in the air, and it was heavy. Two words kept spinning in Severin’s mind, and on her tongue, sanctuary. Shelter. Ample sibilants were causing vertigo. Her throat went dry and small breaths were scraping it. The priestess sensed desperation like she could grab it with her hand if she reached for it in the air, quickly, but it at the same time it felt alien, foreign. It didn’t belong to her. Edér was on edge as well, although he tried his hardest not to show it. Seeing this place reduced to a sad miserable ruin made his skin crawl and anger rise up. Where once he stood surrounded by kin, offered prayers that were answered, and felt the warmth of the sun in his chest, there was only destruction and emptiness. He could only guess what Severin was feeling or thinking, but somehow her anxiety seeped into his soul. Edér felt extremely uncomfortable, but he didn’t want to turn back. Somehow it seemed that the source of this discomfort lay further down. 

He was trying to suppress his anger. It wasn’t bloodthirst, but something that was directed at himself.  Edér  knew he was alone in Gilded Vale. Those who didn’t wish him ill either left the village or were executed. There were also others who m he knew well and who attended the services in the temple and uttered the same prayers and hymns and who later revoked all connection to Eothas. He gritted his teeth. It was difficult to accept, but deep down he knew he couldn’t blame them. They wanted to live. They valued their lives. And if it meant throwing away a part of themselves, they were ready to cast everything aside and settle for a new god of Raedric’s choosing. But  Edér  couldn’t do the same even though he was beginning to suspect that Eothas was really gone. He was who he was, who he always had been, and he didn’t believe people can change. He could go anywhere he liked, but he didn’t want to. The only thing he was ready to accept was that he would be hanged,  eventually .  And he embraced that fact with open arms. The man never concerned himself with concepts of fate and destiny,  but when it came down to this, did not resist.

“Does it feel wrong? Being here?” Severin suddenly asked.

“Yes,” Edér admitted begrudgingly. “But it feels right, somehow. Never thought I’d come back here. Not like this.”

“I can only imagine how hard it must be for you,” she said. “This place speaks to me. It doesn’t even have to be like this for me to understand a great injustice has been done here. It bleeds grief.”

“Are you some medium or somethin’?” he asked, weirded out. “I mean maybe I can believe you can talk to dead people, but there’s no one here… You talk like it’s something you can, I don’t know, smell? Can you smell grief?”

A lthough it wasn’t something she could call intuition or gut feeling, Severing knew what he said wasn’t far from the truth. And even though it wasn’t smell she was sensing so keenly,  the priestess couldn’t begin to describe what this strange awareness reminded her of. There were many times in her thirty-s even years of life that she could say she felt her heart wasn’t in the right place because of something, or that something that was unknown was bothering her; her senses now were no longer bodily, and much more acute. It made her skin tingle when she felt emotion in the air like a veil, and the closest she came in her mind to actually describing what was going on was an assumption that she had gained a new, unnatural organ.

“I-”

A  dull clunk  ahead .  Sound of metal colliding with stone carelessly.  Edér  flinched, Severin dampened the flame.  They didn’t make eye contact, instead, their gazes were fixed on the corridor from which the sound had come. Both could see no movement or sources of light, there were no more sounds or shadows.

“No one should be here,” he whispered. “The priests were driven away long ago, and no one here in their right mind would come here, even to loot - if there was even anything left to steal in the first place.”

She didn’t  say anything , only mentioned for him to move forward, wordlessly.  Severin regretted for a split second not having brought the estoc with her; then again she did not expect anyone remotely dangerous to lurk in the abandoned temple which was a sore spot for the villagers and their ruler alike.  The priestess wasn’t by  any means helpless;  she possessed faith and this gift empowered her to do things far beyond the physical realm,  but these things she did not dare call miracles always felt natural, like talent or honed skill to which one was dedicated.  It was always common knowledge that faith and commitment could be a source of power and might, no matter one’s choice of deity. Few pursued this path, which was long and difficult and not always felt rewarding, but Severin always knew since the day she discovered  her devotion was something more than a moral compass and a shield. It was the day when she learned she was bestowed a great gift.

  
  


It was like a jot that penetrated her brain as she realized she was capable of more than she knew.  Potential she didn’t know there was.  Warmth in her fingertips, scintillating.  Invisible sunlight in the air that felt like a shielding barrier.

In solitude,  the priestess walked the streets of the Readceran capital at night.  Slowly, she wandered further and further away from the city square,  staying off dark  unlit  alleys. It was  early  spring. The air was light and crisp, and it smelled like half-melted muddied snow.  Her senses were sharp, and the need of sleep did not bother or distract her. Her steady pace  did not betray exhaustion.

Ahead, on a pebbled path, a sullen shape of a man sat, slumped. His shoulders were shaking as if they were being hit by a violent hailstorm.  When she approached him, she could see his face. In the pale moonlight, his features looked  like they were  shaped from stone  and at the same time, distorted with a grimace of pain.  He was clutching something in his hands, pressing it to his chest, and she couldn’t see what it was. But there was something in the air apart from the smell of spring and the light wind, something he was radiating into it, around himself, pulsating like the warmth from a hot, sweaty body after a long run. If sin  had a sound, it would be this man’s weeping. But the definition of sin was arbitrary, and everyone knew it: if one act was one god’s virtue, it was another one’s vice. Whenever godly doctrines and the laws of men collided, the latter prevailed. The reality of Eora was that it was impossible to be free from sin,  whether in people’s minds or in their actions. Kith souls contained vast amounts of knowledge they could not imagine, and whether it carried valiant acts of bravery or malevolent betrayal they had no impact on what they received at birth. At that moment, though, she felt not just potent sin, but the desperate desire to be forgiven.  Desire of r edemption.

A natural thing to desire, Severin thought as she touched the man’s arm and he flinched, hiding his face from her.  Kith were always imperfect. Sin would always be a part of their lives.  Which was why she knew that choices mattered most. And then she saw his hands were covered in blood. It was dripping on the pavement. She could hear the sound. His face was all wet from tears and smudged with dirt and blood. She never removed her palm.  A flame burned in his soul, and inside there was an irresistible urge. Before that day, Severin had never had to deal with souls. Despite not seeing anything in his, she still could feel there was something eerily similar  and nearly identical  to what she saw  before her. In every incarnation. It had driven him to kill. And in each life, the same. Same sin. Same crime. Same desire for forgiveness. She realized it would happen in his next life, and the one after the next, and that his soul was so broken and corrupted it was already far beyond repair.

Eothas taught  forgiveness but he was also the god of rebirth.  Whether that man felt true remorse and the wrongfulness of what he had done or simply wanted to feel relief, it was difficult to say. It always was, for her. But the man before her was a murderer. Severin saw it in his eyes. The sin she sensed  felt physical like she could shove her hand in it. She could make his previous accumulated sins into pain and pierce his heart. Just as she was ready to go through with it and try, the priestess stopped herself.

“Redemption,” she said quietly, squeezing his skin with force, “is a frail thing. There can never be any redemption if one doesn’t take responsibility and accept all consequences. I wish there were anything that could be done. It’s out of our hands now.”

H is weapon fell on the ground, and he landed his face in his hands.

“I know it isn’t fair. I know.” Severin was caught unprepared, and her voice shook. “It just isn’t within my power to grant something like this. I won’t lie. The courts are merciful, but they don’t look at souls there, only at acts themselves. I’m sorry it happened to you. I’m sorry you became a victim of a cruel fate.” She knelt. “I forgive you. You hear me? Others might not, but I do. They won’t understand, but I do. And I forgive you.”

She cast a charm then, a soothing incantation that dulled his pain and dried his tears – something she didn’t know she could do, but the magic of faith came naturally to her and obeyed her will. She left and never learned what became of him.

  
  


It happened so long ago but there wasn’t a day she didn’t think about this man whose name she didn’t even know. It gnawed at her soul, the realization she could have done things differently.  Could have done more. At the time, the priestess was shy of twenty years old, away from her homeland without anyone to call a friend in distant lands. It felt valiant then, but now she saw it for what it is – cowardly. It was a crucial moment in her life, this realization of a newfound power. She w ould later use it to hurt and to push, but never to kill.  And each time she would remember what allowed her to come to the true command of her own faith. The desperate need to be forgiven.

What reminded her of this feeling was that she again sensed the desire of redemption. But it was like an old wound, disturbed and aching from overwork. When Severin and  Edér  entered the narrow room, they saw a man lying in a small pool of his own blood. He was sickly and pale, and his face was very thin, cheekbones a sharp stroke on his already gaunt cheeks. The priestess sparked up the flame to illuminate him, and with her other hand,  she directed a ray of healing energy on the small hole in his side, and slowly it began to skin over tightly.

The man looked relieved and couldn’t find a way to express his gratitud.. “The creatures down here… Didn’t see what hit me, but it sure was painful,” he wheezed. “Be careful if you want to explore further down there.”

“You’re not gonna ask what we’re doing here?” Edér was visibly surprised and unnerved. “Then again if it was something wrong in your eyes, you wouldn’t be down here yourself in the first place. You look... familiar.” The farmer squinted his eyes, and Severin moved closer with the flame. “Don’t I know you from somewhere?”

“You might,” the man replied hesitantly. “Name’s Wirtan. I lived here for a long time, and then I moved on.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell. Comin’ back for some easy plunder?” Edér scoffed. “’Fraid you’re a bit too late. All that could have been taken, was. You can seek your fortune someplace else. This is gonna be some other god’s temple soon, not Eothas’s.”

“I know,” Wirtan squeezed his words through his thin, half-opened mouth, “and it’s why I’m here...”

“And why’s that?” Severin demanded.

“Back when the Purges began,” the wounded man said, “the temple was closely watched, at first. You know it. They warned the priests, told them to leave while they could. But they just wouldn’t. Whenever Raedric’s men came for them, they would just hole up in the catacombs. But then they got tired of this, gave last final warning, and sealed the temple.”

“The priests left in a hurry,” Edér confirmed Wirtan’s words, “didn’t say goodbye or anything. Woke up in the morning that day and that was it. They were gone.” He sighed plaintively. “I miss the rectrix. Good woman. Taught me to read, even. Though I’m not very good at it.” He sighed again, this time, with more cheer. “Wonder where she’s now. Prob’ly Readceras.”

“So if the temple was sealed,” Severin said slowly, thinking, “then why did you come here after all this time?”

“I think there might be people there...” he replied grimly. “Dead, at this point. I wanted to check, and give them a proper burial if that’s the case. They deserve it.”

“Why would people be there?” Edér said in a low voice. “Everyone left. It took a long time convincing them, but they did, in the end. And Raedric’s men scoured the temple, top to bottom. They’d be dancing on their bones if they had found anybody.”

“I don’t know,” Wirtain answered with pained breaths, “but there was always doubt about what happened in the temple. I was one of Raedric’s people back then.”

“You-” Edér rasped.

“I never liked this, what we did,” the wounded man retorted quickly, and perhaps way too loud for someone with his injury. His face twisted in pain. “And that was why I left. But I had to go back. To check. They won’t leave a stone unturned, if they want to rededicate the temple. They’ll see what’s inside and any chance to lay to rest anyone who could have been left there – it would be gone. There won’t be any dignity in this.” His voice was shaking a little, and his mice eyes darted back and forth. “But I have overestimated my mettle. By fighting days are long gone, and my sword arm’s gone weak. I shouldn’t have come back at all.”

“You know the people here,” the farmer hissed. “You could have told one of us. Then you wouldn’t need to go alone. And it would only be right that these priests… Who you say might have perished there… be honoured by those who shared our faith. I am not the only one who remained.” He clenched his fists. “And I am not the only one who’s not afraid.”

“One man is less noticeable than a group, even if it’s a small one,” Wirtan deflected, “and your lot would curse me for dragging you into this if we got caught.”

“ _My lot?”_ the former soldier almost choked. “You know nothing about _my lot_ , and the folks ‘round here. You don’t get to talk shit about them. Just ‘cause you left don’t mean you’re not responsible! And don’t even get me started on _your lot_! Always trying to justify what you did by saying ‘orders’! It’s wasn’t orders you were under when they came with torches and pitchforks. It was _your_ lot who did the pointing, and did it all too well!”

“I never pointed any fingers,” he replied indignantly, “as for what came before that, no, I won’t deny… But I decided to leave that behind, in the end. I made _my own_ choice for once.”

“You can’t just leave something like that behind!” Edér’s eyes bulged with fury. “People get sent to the gallows for that, thrown in the dungeons!”

“Not in the Dyrwood, no more,” the man replied spitefully, “and certainly not in Gilded Vale. Whether you like it or not.”

“Still doesn’t mean that’s right. It’s murder, plain and simple. We got what we wanted,” Edér scoffed, “we killed Eothas. We killed Waidwen. We won the war. There was no need to slaughter all those who followed him. No one in Gilded Vale fought for Readceras, we all were on the different side of that bridge… And still they were put down like dogs ‘cause some fellas thought justice was killing people who defended them, going _against_ their own beliefs...”

Wirtan opened his mouth, but Severin stopped him with a quick hand gesture.  “ Stop before you say something you’re clearly going to regret. If you really came here to honour the priests, then prove it. ”

“Finally,” the man exhaled with relief, appearing under the impression he was being supported, “the voice of reason!”

“Do _not_ mistake my patience for acceptance,” the priestess replied sternly, as if reprimanding a child, “and certainly not forgiveness. If something terrible had truly happened here, I will see this wrong righted.” She glared at him. “And you will learn that I don’t take my promises lightly.”

“You’re talking like… What’s it to you, lady?” Wirtan asked. “You’re not even from here. It’s not your business.”

“It is _precisely_ my business because I am a follower of Light. And I will not stray from my path because some people, as you like to say, tell _our lot_ not to care.”

“I should have guessed. Only an insane Eothasian would take a stroll in an abandoned temple at night.”

S everin sighed tiredly. “ I’m getting exhausted of this conversation. Enough. We didn’t come here to trade words.  Let’s see what lies ahead.  And y ou’ll go with us,”  she pointed at Wirtan.

She shot a look of doubt at  Edér. “ And if you try something funny,” the farmer threatened  the man , “I’ll bash your skull in and see how you like it. They don’t like looters here in this part of the Dyrwood  and they won’t miss you .”

“Can you stand?” Severin said coolly and saw him nod apprehensively. She then reached for Wirtan with her hand, and with a firm grip, she helped him up. His weight felt like a sack rotten potatoes. The priestess clasped her hands and said, “good. How are you feeling? Any dizziness? If there’s anything that’s bothering you, tell me now and I’ll see what I can do about it.”

“I’m fine,” Wirtan minced out words with his mouth. “I think I can walk on my own.”

“Whatever you say,” Edér grumbled. “just don’t complain if you trip.”

“Believe me I won’t.”

Eyeing each other suspiciously, they went on through the corridor and into a big room. The priestess lit the way, and shadows covered the walls near to where they stood. As they walked, she traced the stone wall with her finger. Around them, there was broken furniture, overturned tables, toppled bookcases with pages torn. Old robes, sickly-green, lay abandoned, removed from chests.

“Why did they have to do this?” Edér muttered, almost silently. “Did they think the priests were hiding from them in these chests? Did they try finding some valuables? Gold?”

“Don’t think Raedric would have judged them for that,” Severin replied grimly, “it was plunder for them, a just reward for their service. As if this was some kind of war they won. They felt entitled to… reiumbursement.”

“Do you have something to say for yourself?” the farmer demanded, looking at Wirtan. “Anything at all? This is your doing.”

“I wasn’t here for this,” the man replied. “I didn’t go to the temple to search for people. It was Raedric’s squads and the fanatics who wanted blood, they joined forces in hopes to find some Eothasians holed up here.”

“And they didn’t find anyone, did they?” Severin asked.

“No. There was no one,” Edér said. “That’s what they told us.”

“I left Raedric’s service immediately after that. I don’t know what happened later.”

“Fine.” He scratched his beard angrily, trying to calm down. “Fine. I don’t care. Let’s do what we were going to do. I think I might have an idea, but it isn’t much. If there’s one place where they could have hidden – and not been found, that is, then it can only be the reliquary. But I never been there so I don’t know where it is.”

“It should be somewhere further down,” Severin suggested, pointing to a corridor that lay ahead. “There, perhaps?”

Suddenly,  Edér’ s dull demeanor sparked up  a little, although his voice was still rather irritated . “I remember this place,” he said solemnly to Severin,  pointing northwards with his hand,  where she initially guessed at . “I told you about this ceremony, so this is where it would start.  You were supposed to walk this corridor blindfolded and alone. Represents the hardships of life we all face. Stumbling  in the darkness, making all the wrong choices, that sort of thing. It’s quite long as you can see. ‘ Course, you were never really alone – a priest would always be around you somewhere in case you got lost or tried to pull off the blindfold… Only you never knew about that at the time. ”

“How did it feel?” the priestess asked with interest, never stopping to watch Wirtan who was lagging slightly behind, demonstratively disinterested in their conversation. “Was it difficult?”

“Nah, more like terrifying. Some moments I felt like I was gonna jump out of my own pants,” he chuckled. “And it felt really really long like I’d spent hours there even though all I had to do was walk in a straight line and not fall. And it was the only time I was down here ‘cause they used to hold the service upstairs.”

“Quite a lot of space for a temple.”

“Oh it goes further down,” he said, not concealing his pride, “they had some baths there for the sick. Though how they managed to run this all I could never understand.”

“Let’s walk this path, then,” the priestess suggested. “Maybe you’ll spot something in a familiar place.”

“Well it’s not like I could see somethin’ when I during the ceremony,” Edér said, “but I remember what I saw when it was over. Maybe something will stand out, I don’t know. ‘Sides, I already wanted to show you this anyway. Might as well get to it.”

W ithout further interjections, they proceeded down the hall. Severin expected it to be longer, but it felt more formidable than long. They weren’t in a hurry, and when she could, she was keeping an eye on the wounded man trailing somewhere behind. There were some people, especially in Readceras, who believed that priests could smell lies from truths, and while it wasn’t her sense of smell that was tingling, something felt wrong s poke in such a belligerent manner like a child talking back to his parents. He was a man who had something to hid and tried to defend himself before any accusations really began. She couldn’t quite place what exactly he could lie about, but one thing seeme d certain: a person  l i ke him who was convinced in his own innocence would not have returned to try and set things right.  She felt that desperation in his soul, it wasn’t something that could be mixed up with something else.

She never voiced this, just mulled the thought in her own head. She knew that Edér wanted to see him punished for something he was sure this man had done, but in her life, she had learned not to throw accusations left and right. Severin looked at the wide back of the man who walked in front of her. It was tense, unwilling to release – or maybe even unable. When he talked about the temple and the ceremony he seemed at peace, even nostalgic – but in reality, he was consumed by anger, and it dampened all the sentimental feelings and memories. _He was right, of course,_ she thought. _The way he feels is justified._ _He’s afraid of what we might find. And if we find what he is dreading, he will automatically assume that he’s the one to blame._

They passed a wide stone arch and ascended a small set of stairs.  They saw a bright room, lit by thousands of thick wax candles. The flames flickered evenly and at the same time, like a choir, but they never sputtered. The air still had the smell of incense. Above the candles there were three heavy bells, one large and two small ones, each to a side. The light on Severin’s finger went out, and  Edér’ s mouth opened slightly.

“After all this time,” he began without any sign of confidence, “the candles are still burning? I never thought they would...” He trailed off and approached the altar. With his index finger, the farmer touched the tip of white flame and held it over for a couple of seconds. “And it doesn’t burn the skin, it’s not even purifying flame… It’s exactly how it was when I was here all those years ago. Just… empty.”

The priestess was mesmerized. “It’s so warm in here.  I wonder if anyone came here before us… But I doubt it was kith’s doing. The wax melts at the top, but the candle isn’t getting any shorter... ”

“Well here it is,” Edér announced like a disgruntled town crier. “Anyway, this is where your path would end, where you’d drop the blindfold and see your loved ones, friends and family all standing together. They’d ring the bells so loud you’d think you’re gonna go deaf and then everyone’d give you this big hug...”

“The sun comes, however long the night,” she smiled.

“Yes,” Edér said, “this is what they’d say. And you’d be redeemed.”

Wirtan was hanging around the corner like an outcast. Severin watched the dancing shadows intently  when they intertwined under the tall ceiling. Among soft round shapes of the bells, she saw also a thin long one  which wasn’t very big. She looked behind the bells and saw a small metal lever. Without hesitation and out of curiosity, she pulled it. The lever gave in without resistance, and something started moving behind her back; smells of dust and stone spiraled in the air and opened the new way.

“What in the-”

“Something they wanted to hide. The reliquary, maybe?”

N othing could act better as a call to action than the realization. Swiftly, the two Eothasians rushed forward, Wirtan entering the room hesitantly. It was dark and smelled of bone and disease, the light penetrated the room from their backs, diffused. Severin sparked an ember on her finger, again, and as she made a step forward, she heard a loud crack. Her soul started spinning inside, and she immediately turned to face  Edér,  whose bewildered eyes could only match her own.

“These are bones,” she said quietly.

Among scarce riches and gilding, stacks of parchment and a few precious stones, there lay kith bones, mixed with green robes.  Stains of blood and other bodily fluids were there, concealed by clothing and bone. The further in they went, the more horrendous the smell became. It squeezed tears out of their eyes. Severin felt a faint presence, and a sudden violent thirst. Somewhere on the left side of the reliquary, a lonely soul lingered with a barely visible glow concentrated where the heart would have been.

She felt her eyes roll upwards as she reached for this little speck of essence, and then in front of her she saw a ghostly but familiar face, Wirtan’s, only a decade younger and a bit healthier, without any gaunt. His look was shrewd and even conspiratorial. On top of his chainmail, he wore a long cape that bore Raedric’s coat of arms. But the priests were listening carefully to what he had to say. His tone was concerned, and words urgent, although Severin couldn’t hear the whole extent of what he was saying. _In two days’ time… The date is set...I have come as a friend...We have our orders…_ And then, in response, a whole choir of different voices, both male and female, young and mature – but one voice stood out, that of an old woman; it carried vibrancy and energy Severin herself couldn’t boast. _I shall die before_ _I leave my flock to these butchers… I am not faint-hearted…_ Then, a reply, and a feeling of elation. _Hide… leave you shelter after they go…_ A loud thud, people huddled together, looking at each other, embracing like family. Thirst and hunger and screams. An old woman’s last dying words, _It is not within our nature to forgive, but we must do what is most difficult for the goodness of our souls…_ And this soul’s resolution as it succumbed without water having fed on remains. _Curse you, for I shall never forgive what you did..._

S everin began moving her palm erratically to dispel the vision like it was an evil spirit.  Edér  knelt beside her. He took something in his hand and looked carefully at it. “ This is rectix’s signet ring, ”  he said tearfully. “She always wore it on her left hand. She sat me beside her, on the left, when she taught me to read, and I remember it was always there… What’s it doing here?”

In two bounds, the priestess moved to look Wirtan in the eye.  “ I should have warned you in advance that I don’t appreciate it when people lie to me. And you  _lied_ to me.”

“How did I lie to you?” the man remained adamant, although his left eye visibly twitched.

“You didn’t _think_ there could be people here. You _knew_ people were here.”

“I-”

“Because you planted this idea in their heads. You helped them hide and never came back to rescue them.”

“What?” Edér roared.

“I tried to _save_ them,” Wirtan pushed, “but they just wouldn’t leave. It didn’t matter what I thought about Eothas. I didn’t want them slaughtered.”

“They were waiting for you, Wirtan,” Severin said loudly, “they knew the door couldn’t be opened from the inside. And you never came back for them.”

“They watched me,” the man tried vindicating himself without even questioning how she could learn all this, “all the time. I couldn’t find an opportunity… And then they redeployed me...”

“You could have told someone!” Edér crashed on him like a tidal wave of righteous fury. “Written a letter or just given a hint! We were so foolish to believe this! I knew they would never have abandoned us! If I had known… I’d dig them out with my own hands! How stupid could I be?”

“Don’t blame yourself, Edér,” she said softly to him. “You were deceived. All of you. It’s not your fault.”

“It was so unlike her to just leave… I knew! I _knew_! But I wanted to believe that they’d just start over abroad, with their lives intact… If I’d just come back to check...”

“They often say that we the followers of the Shining God are weak,” Severin addressed Wirtan, not looking at him but rather at the air between them, “that we are foolish to believe people and grant them our kindness without questions. It is because we are taught to trust people and value virtue. But I knew better than to trust you from the very beginning, from the very moment you started speaking. I value truth most of all, and you are full of deceit.”

“He didn’t come here to do something good for the people he had wronged. He came because he on;y wanted to cover his own tracks! Give me one reason,” the other Eothasian hissed, “just one reason not to cut your throat here and now!”

“Our teachings,” Severin replied in a tired and disappointed voice. “the reason is our teachings. He may sound like a belligerent and condescending man, and while his ignorant and hurtful words may anger us, it is his actions that speak most loudly.” She sighed. “He wouldn’t be punished if they found the bodies here. No one would care, and the remains would just be tossed aside. He knows it. This crime would not be punished, and still, he came.”

“You don’t mean you’re just going to-”

“My heart is telling me these people need to be avenged. But my soul...” she closed her eyes and lifted her face upwards, reducing her voice to a whisper, “no longer belongs to me – it is Eothas’s, now. His death won’t help those he had wronged. While there are those who keep on living, he must atone. It wasn’t Eothas he had hurt with what he had done, it’s his followers. It means it’s us he shall have to answer. And only we can grant him absolution. He won’t find the justice you want to inflict on him in the Dyrwood.”

“There are things that can’t be forgiven,” Edér snapped, “and people who are beyond redemption. He’s one of them.”

“His soul must learn what true atonement and penance are,” she objected gently. “If he’s gone, so is his potential to do good. And I am sure that he is capable, although… a little unwilling. The rectrix… what was her name?”

“Obrisca,” Edér replied, pain poisoning his words.

“She wanted to forgive. If you don’t trust _my_ judgement, then trust hers.”

An uncomfortable silence reigned. Wirtan stood, frozen, awaiting the verdict. He couldn’t find powers within himself to even move. It seemed that in a moment, his head would dangle like that of a rag doll’s. His already thin-lipped mouth looked like a thread. Severin was suppressing her anger while the light was burning and  Edér  fumed. “Do what you find necessary,” he finally made a dismissive gesture with his hand, “I don’t agree with this, but if it’s something we as Eothasians should do then so be it.”

She grabbed Wirtan by his hand, quickly and harshly, and said, “Listen to me carefully now and heed my words. Remember what I will now say.”

“Enough with the preaching, woman,” Wirtan said through his teeth, “keep it to yourself. I don’t need your sermons.”

Her palm then started radiating bright light, like that of a blacksmith’s furnace, and the wave of heat pushed her hair back forcefully. The man tried to suppress his screams, but was unsuccessful; then he attempted to tear away his limb, but Severin’s grip was stronger.  “ I promise you will remember this. It’s purifying flame and it’s meant to make you stronger. You have sinned in the eyes of our god, and in his eyes shall you be forgiven. He is merciful, but he is just. ”  The man was squirming under the priestess’ fiery touch. She was unrelenting, adamant, and her eyes were closed.  He screamed for mercy, but the priestess didn’t flinch.  “ Make amends. Go forth with dedication. ”  With a swift moment, she pushed him away and he fell on the stone floor, holding his hand close to his chest.

“Remember what you came here for,” Severin continued, looking at him with a cold face which betrayed no emotion, “remember this each time you look upon your brand. Know that it brings me no joy to hurt you. It was something that had to be done. Understand that it is temporary, as is our life. In time, you’ll come to understand this simple truth.”

Edér  put him on his feet and gave him a little shove.

“Now go,” Severin said. “Do what is right. But know you this: _Nothing is hidden from his sight._ ”

The man looked at her, tears flowing on his cheeks.

“And from mine.”

He got off with a jerk, voiceless, and vanished in the dark before long. When his steps receded, she left the room and knelt before the altar. Her hands were still hot, and she clasped them together while Edér watched. He, too, was praying, saying the words in his head.

Kneel before him and wonder at his benevolence, feel the warmth of his radiant presence.

The candles burned, but there was no warmth. No answer.

Only emptiness.


End file.
